Jordan travels

I don't know what to write about a recent trip to Jordan. it was a moving and educational step back into ancient history, organised into three chapters.

The first stop was Amman and the north. It was cold and rainy and even snowed one morning. Organizing a simple taxi ride took persistence and required me to stare down a tour operator who insisted on being served ahead of me.

Organizing sightseeing depended on our ability to be clear and strong on our wishes and also negotiate better prices.

After paying for a city tour on Friday we discovered  that we should not be in the downtown area after noon on a Friday as the post-mosque big crowds apparently get quite rowdy.

Amman perfumery

Amman visit to spice (spicy) shop.

No problem. A quick visit to a perfumery, where the perfume makers shared his secrets of roses and gardenias, and a spice shop where they sell everything including virginity soap. Would love to know how that works.

 Amman: Roman amphitheater circa 161 AD.

Amman: The Citadel inhabited
continuously for the past 10,000 years

From Amman north: Ajlun Castle circa 1184,
built on the remains of a monastery

From Amman north: Ancient city of Jerash established by Alexander the great.
Reminded me of Pompei. Do not miss this when you come.
A 3km walk and you could happily spend a half day.

A highlight was visiting
the lowest spot on earth.

Chapter 2, left Amman for Jordan River Valley and the Dead Sea.  It was finally warm and sunny, so after lounging by the pool we jumped into the sea. The feeling is impossible to describe. The salt concentration is 10x that of the Mediterranean, so floating is easy. What is hard is doing anything else, like walking or swimming. And no we could not walk on water.

Dead Sea Marriot Jordan Valley
Lap of luxury

One full day followed of sun, spa and sea. 
Such a beautiful resort 
and every moment of this day 
felt well spent.

Chapter 3: Petra, Aqaba and The Red Sea: Our next location, Aqaba, was more than 4 hours by car. We decided to break up the trip with a much anticipated visit to Petra, established 312 BC, rediscovered in 1812. Technological innovations included control of water allowed the Nabataeans to thrive in this desert area, and the mix of Greek, Egyptian and Syrian elements show its desirability to all. Of course the Roams came and built over top of all that, so once again the main street strongly resembles Jerash and Pompeii and likely a hundred other ancient cities.

What is most remarkable about seeing Petra for the first time is the carvings into the massive walls of stone. Tombs for commoners are everywhere, but of course it is the royal tombs that impress.

 And of course a trip tp Jordan would not be complete without visiting Aqaba and the Red Sea. Well we actually did not visit Aqaba at all, staying at a resort 15 km outside of the city. Although it was very windy during our visit, the colors, sun and warm friendly people made it well worth the trip. Most of the hotel employees at the resort come from the Philippines. They are young men and woman who get a work visa for 19 months and basically work the whole time they are in Jordan. We were pleased with the level of professional service combined with a very warm welcome.

The view from the lobby of The Movenpick hinted
at the overall beautity of the resort.

Nice beach, but very windy

Just one of our many pools at the reort.

If you are going to Jordan, here is my advice:

1. Go in April or May to have reliably warm weather but not a heatwave
2. Do not miss Jerash.
3. Do not miss Petra
4. Spend enough time in the north to see the incredible history and most of your time in the south to really relax and enjoy the natural surroundings.

I shall die in Paris

I Shall Die in Paris — César Vallejo

I shall die in Paris, in a rainstorm,
On a day I already remember.
I shall die in Paris—it does not bother me—
Doubtless on a Thursday, like today, in autumn.

This poem found me again today. The first time, it caught me off guard — I shared it with a friend, felt its melancholy beauty, and then let it drift away.

But today, it landed differently. Maybe because life has a way of returning the right words when we need them.

Four years ago, I was given the chance to live in Paris. I had never been, but somehow I knew I would love it. I left my job in big pharma, traded security for uncertainty, and got on a plane. Some called it risky. But really — it was Paris. How bad could it be?

And for those who don’t know me: I loved it. Love it still. Even now, when I can see a bit beneath its knickers, Paris continues to enchant.

So thank you, whoever sent the poem back my way today — a small reminder, perhaps, that I’m meant to stay. And to live. And, one day, to die here too.
Maybe in a rainstorm.

Paris Letters - this just might change your life!

When you read this book, you will laugh, you will cry and you will dream. I bet you will also make a change. 

There is no way to predict what you will change. 

Some people clean out their underwear drawer. Some decide to pursue their dream. Still others have begun to notice more beauty in their lives.

Last week during a spectacular vacation in Jordan, I was possessed by insomnia. Sometimes when this happens, I become increasingly frustrated, trying ever harder to fall asleep, a surefire way to chase away any hope of rest.

Not this time.  I opened my email and realised how heavy those 2000 emails in my yahoo account had become. And I had nothing better to do.

I started to go through them all. All of those junk mails. Gone.  
Emails I just didn't know if I might need some day. Gone.

And, wait for it, emails from ex-boyfriends. Yup gone. The ones that felt good at the time and those that never felt good. What on earth was I doing with any of them?

And under all of that stuff, I found a little treasure. A sweet photograph of my sister and mother before Mom was brought down by her disease. I love the smiles on their faces.

I also found a  collection of poems I had thought were lost forever. 



So thanks Janice for reminding us to dream big, do the necessary, and make room for the important stuff.

P.S. the book is getting so much attention Amazon is offering it up on it super value deal of the day! 
Paris Letters deal on Amazon

Jordan: where desert dogs roam

(Inspired by the Jordan desert,
where man and beast share the same wandering spirit.)

This rocky barren land

With nothing for miles

No water or grass or trees

The sheep must settle for the few small shrubs.

Who chose this land, this foreign planet?

All those years ago

What fills the souls of the people

When nothing

Is pleasing

Or startling?

On the radio

A man sings of his endless wandering

Always searching for love

Nothing changes

While the sheepdogs guard

The desert dogs roam

You can't always protect the vulnerable

You Can’t Always Protect the Vulnerable

We spend our lives trying to protect what’s vulnerable.
In my case, it was always my heart.

And after thirty years of what was probably a fairly average share of heartbreak, I finally learned something profound about it.

I woke up one morning on the floor.
My living room floor.
No blanket, no explanation — just a pounding head and the vague thought that maybe I’d decided to nap by the thermostat.

It didn’t make sense.
The last thing I remembered was reaching to adjust the heat.

A few days later, I went to the doctor for a headache that refused to quit.
Had I fallen recently? she asked.

Well, there was that morning on the floor...

A CT scan revealed a concussion. I must have fallen hard.
A “routine” cardiac test uncovered something else: a complete AV block.
My heart had been stopping — completely — twenty-five or thirty times a day.

---

I thought back to being ten, and twenty, and thirty — all those dizzy spells, all those doctors who said it was nothing.
It wasn’t nothing.
But this time, someone was curious enough to keep asking questions.

Because I happened to live in relatively privileged Connecticut, just next door to Yale, I only had to wait three days for a brand-new pacemaker — a small piece of metal and miracle that would keep my heart in rhythm.

A week later, I was back at work.
My colleagues joked about finding the remote control to turn down my new energy.
Who knew I’d been running on half power all my life?

---

Technology, medicine, and one very good doctor gave me a second chance.
But what I really learned is this:
You can’t always protect the vulnerable.
Sometimes you just have to keep it beating — however imperfectly — and trust that someone, somewhere, will help you restart it when it stops.

 

Danger lives everywhere

We all have stories about how bad a certain situation could have been. In most cases we tell the stories where we narrowly escape catastrophe. Tonight I was reminded of one such example.

When I first moved to Paris I liked to try out a different restaurant almost every night. One evening I found myself at Leon de Bruxelles, a franchise offering consistently good mussels and fries. I was seated on a banquette with my back to the wall (ladies always get the seat facing out in Paris) looking up a broad, beautiful curved staircase. Customers sat on either side of me.

As I was gazing into my dreams in the general area of the stairs, a waiter dropped a water goblet. The glass struck a stair and exploded.

As I watched in mesmerized immobility, the thousands of pieces of glass were carried through the air toward me, completely covering me with tiny shards. To my right and left, the customers were fine. I was the only one affected.

In shock I stood up, shook myself to get rid of the glass, and proceeded to make my way out of the restaurant. The waiters were asking me if I was okay, if they could do anything, where was I going; I didn't know the answer to any of those questions, so I just kept walking.

Once outside of the restaurant I did a brief inventory and was relieved to see I did not have a single scratch on me.

The deeper meaning of my close call? I have no idea. But for sure next time someone tells me I am crazy to do such dangerous things as zip-lining or skydiving, I will remind them that danger lives everywhere. I think our job is to make sure we are living well and fully when it catches up with us.

Full speed ahead!

Bel Canto - On Reaching the Perfect Note

On Reaching the Perfect Note

Sometimes there’s a moment — in an opera, a film, or a book — when everything stops.
A phrase, a line, a note lands so perfectly that you want nothing more than to stay right there.
You don’t want to leave the theatre, or turn the page, or ever reach the end.

That’s how I felt reading Bel Canto by Ann Patchett.

I was astonished by the precision and beauty of her language:

“Sleep was a country for which he could not obtain a visa.”

“Suddenly I am hungry and the only thing that will feed me is sunlight.”

“Scattered among them were a handful of soldiers sprawled on their backs as if sleep was a car that had hit them dead on.”

Each line, perfect.
She says exactly what we feel — only more beautifully, as if translating thoughts we hadn’t yet found words for.

Like new language learners, we understand the meaning before we know the words.
Like Gen, her interpreter, who recognizes the absence of love only once he has known it.
Or César, who sings with complete understanding of a language he cannot speak.

Each of them — like all of us — knows more than words can say.

And Patchett embraces that truth completely.
She leans into melodrama — life as opera — and finds in it something magnificent: terror, splendour, and those fleeting moments of absolute rightness.

Ah, to live that way.
To find, in each moment, the perfect note —
and let it fade without regret.